Chapter 9: The Breaking of the First Collar
She hadn’t spoken his name aloud in years.
Not since the collar was wrenched from her throat in a burst of flame and fury.
They called him Master Theron of Drask. A man of elegance and venom, known for breaking wills with words alone. He found Mira in the city of Myrrh, when she was still young enough to believe in the kindness of strangers. He offered her shelter, refinement, and the illusion of freedom wrapped in silk. And then he placed a collar around her neck.
The first one.
It was beautiful—delicate filigree etched with stars and the mark of House Drask. It was a prison in the shape of art.
He did not beat her. He did not force himself upon her. Instead, he twisted the world beneath her feet until she forgot who she had been. He controlled her through charm and illusion, carving her identity from the ash of her obedience. The pain he inflicted was slow, clever, cultured.
But Mira was never truly tamed. Beneath the silk and shadow, the fire still burned.
She plotted her escape for nearly a year. Waiting. Watching. Listening.
And then came the Ceremony of Moonfire, when nobles from across the realm gathered at the high cliffs of Drask to witness the release of celestial doves—symbols of prosperity and peace. It was there that Mira made her move. As the crowd turned their eyes to the sky, she lit a fire beneath the eastern pavilion. Distraction. Smoke. Chaos.
And in that chaos, she struck.
She slid her dagger—the one name retracted had once taught her to wield—beneath the edge of the collar, wedging it against the inner clasp. It should have shattered her hand. Instead, it cracked the metal. When Theron lunged to stop her, she turned the blade—not toward him, but toward the ground between them.
And drove it deep.
Sparks flew. Metal shrieked.
The collar broke.
And Mira ran—barefoot through firelight and memory—until the cliffs swallowed her silhouette.
She was no longer a slave.
She was no longer a girl.
She was becoming.